


stumbling, tripping, falling (darkness is my only comfort)

by lostandlonelybirds (RUNNFROMTHEAK)



Series: Tumblr Requests [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Depression, Dick Grayson Has Issues, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Whump, Dick Grayson-centric, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Heavy Angst, Hurt Dick Grayson, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Post Destruction of Bludhaven, Post Nightwing 93, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Under the Red Hood, Resurrected Jason Todd, Self-Denial, Triggers, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:53:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23498581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RUNNFROMTHEAK/pseuds/lostandlonelybirds
Summary: He’s never been the clumsy sort, Bruce would kill him for it, but tonight… Tonight he’s off his game. He’s so far off his game it’s not even funny.
Relationships: Catalina Flores/Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Series: Tumblr Requests [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690783
Comments: 27
Kudos: 405





	stumbling, tripping, falling (darkness is my only comfort)

**Author's Note:**

> Here's what was a request for Dick + Stumble!

**Stumble**

_Transitive verb_

  1.     1. To fall into sin or waywardness
    2. To make an error – _blunder_
    3. To come to an obstacle to belief
  2. To trip in walking or running
  3.     1. To walk unsteadily or clumsily
    2. To speak or act in a hesitant or faltering manner
  4.     1. To come unexpectedly or by chance
    2. To fall or move carelessly



* * *

Dick is, quite honestly, having the worst night of his month.

It’s been hard adjusting to New York, in the aftermath of Bludhaven’s destruction and everything else that has been going on. He’s never felt this lost before, not when Bruce fired him and sent him away, not when Jason died and left a bitter taste of regret and guilt on Dick’s tongue – “ _Call me, I know how he gets…”_ – for not being there. He’s only felt this lost when his parents died and no one thought it was murder, or maybe when he had to pretend to be Slade’s apprentice for months on end.

He feels lost, and it’s hard to think when he feels lost, broken _defeated_.

Tonight it rained, which didn’t exactly help. Rain makes him think of Catalina and her hands, makes him think of Blockbuster and his threats, or the fucking _nuclear fire –_ in and out, he tells himself. Too bad his panic attack doesn’t like listening to him.

He’s never been the clumsy sort, Bruce would _kill_ him for it, but tonight… Tonight he’s off his game. He’s so far off his game it’s not even funny. He stopped a mugging attempt, earlier, with a young woman with almond eyes that made him think of _her_ and a girl who couldn’t be older than fifteen.

“ _Fork it over!”_ she’d barked at the teen, lips twisting in some cold mockery of a smile, and the teen frozen, watching helplessly as the woman pushed her against the alley wall.

“ _Please, no,”_ the teen had cried as the woman’s hands wandered, squeezing and caressing in areas where they shouldn’t have. “ _Stop_.”

Dick had broken them up, sending the woman to the NYPD, but her flashing almond eyes stuck with him, haunting him. The knife that she stabs into his right side leaves a bad impression, but that’s only part of it.

“ _Don’t touch me, I’m… poison, numb…please…”_

It hit in his weak spot, literally and metaphorically, but still he patrols. The rain feels like tiny daggers as the icy shards cut through his haze, his cloud of numbness and absence. It stings, and it smells a bit like jasmine coated gunpowder. Smokey and sweet, a scent combination that makes him feel ill.

Maybe that was his mistake. He should know better. He should _be_ better.

The cut is shallow enough that Dick feels comfortable not dressing it once he stops the blood flow, and he’s not dizzy enough to worry about it.

Perhaps that is his mistake. Maybe he should have taken greater care of the wound, of the cut.

Either way, when he sees the flash of blue on a rooftop opposing him, he doesn’t hesitate.

Graysons don’t hesitate, and the last time he’d hesitated, someone had died.

He chases the figure as it runs, darting between rooftops with a similar fluidity to his own. It’s more jagged, more punctuated, straight to the point and lacking the theatrics Dick liked adding, but it’s _fast_. Almost fast enough to lose him, if he didn’t grow up with a speedster that loved playing tag.

He tackles the man to the next rooftop, bracing himself for impact as they crash. His cheek rubs against the concrete roof painfully, and he ends up sprawled across the man. His jawline is square, with hints of a five-o’clock shadow growing. He’s big, too, bigger than Dick by far, maybe as big as Bruce.

But the thing that truly bothers him, the one detail he really notices, is the blue wings painted across his chest.

Dick sets his escrima to stun and puts it to the guy’s throat, glaring.

“Who the _fuck_ are you?!”

“ _Golden Boy_ ,” an all-too familiar voice calls, sardonic grin just a bit bloodthirsty. “Didn’t think you’d see me, did you?”

Jason Todd rips his mask off with one hand, stunning Dick into silence. His tongue feels like a leaden weight in his mouth – useless, and heavy.

“H-h-how…?” He breathes, dropping his weapons to cup Jason’s cheek delicately. “W-w-when…?”

‘ _Words, I know words.’_

Jason drops his grin, frowning slightly as Dick remains frozen.

“Bats told you, I know he did. I just tried to blow him up, like a month ago! Why wouldn’t he…”

His eyes seem to laser in on Dick’s own suit, and the areas it hung off his frame loosely. So Dick hadn’t been eating properly, sue him. Hard to eat when all you can smell…

All you can _see_ …

“He…I…” Dick looks down. “I haven’t been on speaking terms with him for a while. I’m…”

“Dick?” Jason asks, sounding concerned.

There’s the sound of a gun ringing loud in his ears, a roar of thunder and a loud thud.

He hears a scream, and it isn’t until a minute later that he realizes it came from him. There’s red spilling from his side, pouring out faster than he can stop.

“ _Dick!”_

He stumbles, smelling jasmine and gunpowder and blood, falling to his knees.

Arms try to lift him up, but he fights, feeling her hands pulling, taking, _demanding_ as his back reaches the rooftop edge and she corners him…

And he must succeed, because no hands catch him when he falls. 


End file.
